


Snow on the Ground

by 1shinymess (magpie4shinies)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie4shinies/pseuds/1shinymess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not quite winter yet, but the snows are falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow on the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this Game of Thrones kink meme prompt](http://workswithwords.livejournal.com/259929.html?thread=2453593#t2453593): jon/robb, fucking in the snow.

Northmen were more pious when the snows were falling. Jon watched Club-foot Harold, Jens from the stables and two unfamiliar girls sneak past the gate and into the godswood, and shared a dubious look with Ghost as Jens looked back surreptitiously before following after his friends.

To be true, it was late enough that Jon would normally be discussing the day with Robb or reading, soon to sleep, but Lady Stark's icy regard had pierced him more than it usually did at the dinner table, and Jon found the stone walls stifling. The air was cooler than normal, and that explained the soft, wet flakes drifting from the sky. 

_Winter is coming_ , he thought without irony, and decided to let the four have their fun in the hotsprings.

There was a fine dusting along the ground which would be melted away by the mid-morning, and Jon made his way through it silently, crossing the Guest House and slipping out a side entrance. He considered the forest beyond the defensive clearing. _I could saddle Duty...no, someone might raise a cry. Better to walk._

After the Lady's anger, he couldn't bear the thought of doing something that would bring similar expression to his father's face. He looked down at Ghost with half of a smile. "You can stay if you like. I'm just going to stretch my legs a bit down to the Old Dragon."

Ghost cocked his head and then set off into the forest as though Jon were the one accompanying him on an evening stroll. "Well, all right then."

The snow hadn't made it through the canopy of branches past the forest's edge, and the white footprints behind Jon turned into mud. The Old Dragon was a short walk from the main castle, and a popular spot for children. The decomposing tree didn't look so much like a dragon anymore, really, though one of the grandfathers said it had when it was newly fallen, but it was something for them to spend their youthful fancies on, and it was good to hear their laughter through the trees.

There was a small break in the cover of the trees, lighting the clearing where the large trunk rested. Snow silvered the edges of the clearing and whispered a tease to the rest of the forest of what was to come. Jon stood a moment just off of the edge, boot brushing the soft line of snowdrift, and then followed Ghost's prints. 

The wolf continued through the clearing and beyond with an intent expression of a hunter intrigued.

Jon found his mouth curling wryly as he ended up walking into the clearing alone after all. He circled the Old Dragon, remembering warm hours tucked away with Robb when they'd been much younger. They'd alternated who was to be the Mad King (even scarier with a real dragon, of course) and who could play their father. The battles they'd fought would've wasted cities, if they'd been real.

Jon brushed a spot clear of snow and sat, feeling the trunk of the tree give a little under his weight. It would soon have rotted through from the heat and moisture of the constant summer. 

_Just in time for winter,_ he thought idly, looking up. Snow continued to drift in a silent but thorough powder, flakes swirling around his head, set astir by the heat from his body and his breath. 

"I made you play the Mad King more than you wanted." Jon startled, turning to find Robb smiling at him. "Did I surprise you? Handy trick when I wasn't trying. You're normally so difficult to catch off guard." 

Jon ducked his head, cheeks heating faintly. "My thoughts were elsewhere."

Robb's smile faded somewhat. "Of course."

Jon shifted a moment, and found he could not bear the look of frustrated confusion on his brother's face. "I was a good Mad King," he offered, dusting off a space beside him.

Robb stared at him, eyes gone dark grey and hair a light silvered red in the moonlight, and then his shoulders eased as he took the offer. "You were. But a better Lord Stark. That's why I didn't let you play father more."

Jon laughed, shoulder brushing Robb's as he shook, and Robb joined him a beat behind, a little sheepish. _He was jealous,_ Jon thought incredulously, but Robb obviously knew how stupid that was and Jon couldn't bring himself to be angry over a game they hadn't played in years. 

Robb's hair had caught some curl from both sides of the family and Jon watched as it trapped more and more of the small flakes of frozen water. It was odd how at home he looked, when his mother, who had the same coloring, almost always seemed out of place in the snow. 

Robb had not missed his regard. "What?" 

Jon smiled faintly and leaned to the side to lift his arm and comb his fingers through his brother's hair. The curls brushed over his fingers, softer than Ghost's fur. After chasing most of the flakes away, and with his hand damp again from the snow that had melted from the heat of his skin, he pulled his hand back to his lap.

Robb cocked his head and Jon shrugged. "Snow."

Robb tilted his head in acknowledgment, then his mouth quirked up and he waved. Jon blinked. "Well, come on, then," Robb said, brows arching. "I'll do you, now. It's only fair."

Bemused, Jon found himself responding to the challenge by leaning his shoulders in so that he could dip his head. Robb worked both hands into his hair, the sensation more pleasant than when Tommy had tugged Jon's head this way and that to clip his hair. 

But still, he could feel tension in the air. It was the weight of attention, or the way Robb was carding his fingers through his hair. His stomach trembled faintly, nervous like he only got when he was learning a new move from Ser Roderick, and all he wanted to do was succeed and prove that he could be as good as Eddard Stark’s trueborn sons.

Robb stopped, hands loose fists in Jon’s hair, and there was only so long the pretense of shaking snow out could last without even the faintest pretext of movement, and then Jon found his head tugged up gently, and back so that his chin jutted out towards Robb.

“I _am_ sorry,” Robb whispered, and Jon watched see the blue-silver of his eyes move closer. 

His mouth was warm, the edges of his short beard grown out enough to be soft against Jon's bare skin. His lips parted over Jon's without pressure and Jon immediately tilted his head a hair, took his upper lip between his teeth and sucked gently. 

Heat seared him from Robb's mouth: the inside of him was so much hotter than the flesh chilled by the air and falling snow. Jon had a moment to appreciate the hot, slick feel of him before Robb was groaning, pushing into his mouth with his tongue. A trembling hot flush through Jon as Robb shifted. Jon automatically took his forearms and braced him as he folded a leg under him and knelt up. 

They'd only done this twice before, fumbling at each other's breaches with hands gone clumsy with lust. This was different, somehow: it tasted different, of the wine they'd had with dinner, of course, but also with the chill of the snow heavy on Jon's tongue. 

There was nothing uncertain in the strength of Robb's hands gripping his shoulders and urging him back along the old tree-trunk. Laid out like this, Jon's cloak provided only faint cushion beneath him and fell open to pool on the ground on either side of the trunk. The wind blew then, stirring up the loose flakes drifting down and blowing up furrows of snow from the ground, and Jon shivered, hands tightening on Robb's arms. 

Robb pulled back reluctantly, pupils wide enough that his eyes seemed to be black pits with only an edge of silver-blue, and need and fear slammed through Jon. _This is the end_ , he thought, and forced his hands from Robb's arms to his sides under his own fur-lined cloak to pull him down. It was an awkward shuffle of balance and luck that saw them still on the log when he's satisfied, but Robb's above him, safely laid out between his thighs, and the fear subsides. 

"Uncle Benjen's coming soon," he whispered, eyes locked on Robb's. "Then we'll be surrounded by the king's people. I'm going to convince father to let me take the black." Robb's jaw tightened and Jon shook his head. "I can't stay here, forever cringing at the edges. This...this could be our last chance alone together."

That distracted Robb from the other, and he cocked his head. "What are you saying?"

Jon pressed up on his feet, leveraging his hips into a roll against Robb's that rocked his half-hard cock against his brother's. "I want to know what it's like with someone."

Robb bit his lip, brow furrowing faintly. "I don't know if..." 

Jon blinked, stomach sinking. “Oh.”

" _No_. Of course I want to, I just…are you sure?" Robb asked, eyes widening even as his cock betrayed his interest, twitching against Jon's hip. 

Jon took a shaky breath and smiled, chest aching for the brother he'd spent his entire life competing with and against. "If you want. I thought you might want to…"

" _Yes_ ," Robb breathed, and then leaned forward again. 

They moved to the floor of the forest for stability, and Jon found himself stretched flat on his back again, Robb kneeling between his knees. Jon folded them up, getting a little space between them, and began unlacing his breaches. His fingers were cold and he hissed when he worked them open enough to get his hand under a flap and begin pushing them down. He hissed as his chilly fingers brushed against his hardening cock, but it didn’t do anything to cool his blood.

Robb let out a low, pained sound and fumbled at his own laces, and leaned forward, tipping over onto his knees, and grabbed Jon’s legs, fingers clenching painfully as he pushed them up and folded down against his chest. He could slide forward, that way, and he did: he slid forward between his legs while the pants bunched up around Jon’s thighs were pulled tight with the splay of his thighs. 

Jon shivered in a soft draft of cold air and the swirl of loose flakes before Robb’s cloak settled around his arms, falling to the ground on either side of Jon. There was a moment where they stared at each other, caught in the strangeness of the situation, and Jon couldn’t help tugging Robb down to kiss his mouth into a deep swollen red. 

The strange feel in the air eased, and Jon brought a hand to his mouth and took two fingers between his lips. Robb frowned and Jon looked down at his chin, cheeks burning as he remembered his own confusion when he’d been forced to ask one of the tavern girls how to do this. He worked up more spit in his mouth and then drew his fingers out once they were liberally coated. 

Robb’s breath steamed in the air between them. “What…?” 

Jon closed his eyes as he pushed his hands between them, beneath his breaches and down. He felt the silky, soft skin of the head of Robb’s prick against his knuckles as he bypassed his balls and deliberately plunged both fingers into the wrinkled hole further back.

“Seven hells,” Robb swore. “I didn’t—are you— _fuck_ …”

Jon laughed, half nerves and discomfort and half genuine pleasure that he’d managed to shock his somewhat more worldly brother. All of it is washed away in the strangeness of stretching out around his own fingers. “That’s the idea, actually. Keep up.”

“Shut up,” Robb muttered reflexively, eyes locked on Jon’s arm, watching what he could see of the movement of muscle as he worked – and Robb knew what he was working at, now – to get himself ready.

It was that intent stare more than the movement of his fingers that urged his cock to keep thickening against his stomach. “I think—well, I’m ready.”

Robb shuddered and Jon felt something warm and wet on the bared skin of his stomach. He watched in fascination as Robb closed his eyes, mouth open and brow furrowed as he fought for control before he spat into his own hand and thrust his hand between them. 

The first push was like a deep bruise, burning even with the spit Robb had stroked onto himself. It went on and on until Robb was seated to the hilt, and Jon could only gasp for air, head pressed back into the cloak-covered ground beneath it while he flattened his hands over Robb’s back, fingers almost aching to fist in the cloth and either push forward or pull him back. 

It was a confusing clash of needs that staggered his ability to react in any way. The snow had already started to deaden the sounds past the clearing. All Jon could hear was the sound of Robb grunting, the shift of cloth and the creak of leather, and faintly the wind. 

Robb dropped his head to Jon’s shoulder, trembling. “Jon, Jon, is it…” 

He sounded like holding still hurt, needy like Jon was holding the waterskin after training had run late and the tone, more than anything else, pushed Jon over the edge, and his fist clenched as he tugged Robb closer. “Yeah,” he forced out, voice rough and shaking. “It’s good. Move.”

Robb didn’t hesitate, drawing his hips back immediately to jab a short thrust forward. The pain was unlike any Jon had felt before, but he distracted himself by focusing on the play of muscle in Robb’s back and listening to the soft moans Robb let out. 

Robb was _inside of him_. A flush of tenderness surged up in him, love for his brother and best friend – more than his friend, more than his brother – overwhelming the discomfort of the cold ground and the rocks his cloak couldn’t fully cushion. His body eased, and took the pain of Robb’s cock in him with it. Jon found himself arching his hips, wanting to pull Robb deeper, and the new angle threatened his undoing as it sparked off a sharp, encompassing pleasure he was unprepared for. He was gasping, shocked still from the first stab when Robb’s next thrust repeated it, forcing a strangled sound from Jon’s throat.

After that, Jon lost track of himself and the world around them: his focus was on the wet heat between them, and pushing up to meet Robb’s thrusts for the starburst of pleasure. As Robb’s movements started to come faster, Jon found the rush of completion stronger than any of the ones he’d felt before, even those he’d shared with Robb.

Robb’s voice was a growl in his ear, _sh-shut up, oh **Seven**_ , and Jon realized he was letting out noises of his own, every time Robb’s prick rubbed against that place in him that made stars appear, but he could only dig his heels into Robb’s thighs and drag his fists down his back, pressing him forward harder and harder, but it wasn’t _enough_. 

He unclenched a hand, prying his fingers from the Robb’s shirt to press between them. It was awkward and he didn’t have much room but he managed to get his hand around the top of his aching cock. He’d leaked over his stomach and the head was slick with it, and when he tightened his fingers around himself at the same time Robb managed to find that place again, he spent himself into his palm and over his fingers in a hot rush. 

Robb made a sound like he was dying, stiffening before he hunched forward and barely pulled out before jabbing back in. Jon was nearly sobbing with the sensation, too much, and then Robb froze and Jon felt heat flooding into him. They were both panting, and Robb had dropped his head back to Jon’s shoulder, and he was trembling again. Jon relaxed his grip on his shirt and, shakey himself, stroked his back. 

_Now I know,_ he thought, and pressed his face to Robb’s head as his eyes began to sting.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a terrible pun and I'm actually a little sorry. But not enough to change it.


End file.
